


Bound by the Fox

by mia6363



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Kira is the softest Dom, Light Angst, Organized Crime, Overstimulation, Pegging, Rope Bondage, Smut, Tattoos, Yakuza, light fluff, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: “I want to make you breakfast.”Kira snorted.“It’s two in the morning.”“Okay, so we’ll sleep and then I’ll make you breakfast.” She laughed again and pulled back. He couldn’t see that well in the dark, but he still reached for her, his fingers catching in her hair. “Could I have a kiss?”Her answer was to duck down and press her lips against his hopeful smile.





	Bound by the Fox

“Fuck.” 

Finstock’s mouth hung open against sheets that were softer than any material he’d felt before in his life, probably way outside his budget, but here he was, blindfolded with his wrists tied to bedposts that didn’t rattle or groan. _Real wood,_ he thought, a dizzying mixture of delirious and hysteric as his cock jerked against the sheets. 

“I had a feeling you’d be loud,” a deceptively sweet voice, smiled against his shivering back. “But you’re _really_ loud.” He shuddered when her fully-clothed body slid along his back. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold and swore when she blew lightly on his ear. “And sensitive. I thought you said you were married.” 

_“Was_ married. Christ I’m not,” she reached down between his legs and squeezed his balls. Not hard, but enough that it felt like his heart was trying to crawl out of his throat. “M’not married anymore.” 

God, he felt hot. His skin was tight, his shoulders burned from just keeping his head down and his legs shuddered like he’d forgotten how to walk. Her hair was cold against his back as she slid back down, leaving stinging bites on her way back behind him. The sting made him jump, his heart hammering in a roar of embarrassment, fear, and mind-numbing arousal. 

“None of your wives did this?” 

She pumped him once, before dragging her hand back, one steading his hips while the other… 

“Oh _fuck.”_

Finstock made a noise that… he never thought a middle-aged grump who spent most of his weekends sprawled on the couch wearing a frayed robe could make. High, delicate, shocked, and a wordless plea. Her lubed fingers brushed against his hole and he felt like he’d been shocked. 

“You okay?” 

They’d agreed on a safeword. That had been his only warning, an agreement before she handed him a blindfold and told him to get on his hands and knees on the bed. 

“Yeah.” His words had to push through molasses, oozing from his lips and sticking in the air. “Yeah. It’s just,” his throat clicked, “it’s just…”

“New.” 

Her soft lips kissed his left asscheek as she slid a finger inside. 

A hot flush that spread down his face, neck, and chest. Bullshit societal embarrassment at the position he was in, and the never ending feedback of _new sensation._ He never thought he’d enjoy it, half his own thought and half the toxic masculinity that he was trying his best to wash off. 

Her felt her lips on his lower back as she pushed in deeper, reaching the softest part of him without wincing, scoffing, or flinching away. She spoke, her breath tickling his skin, but Finstock had no idea what she was saying. 

His orgasm, his _first_ orgasm hit him like a brick to the face. His ears popped, his eyes watered, and he cried out as he ruined the expensive sheets below him. The first thought he had was _Jesus Christ._

The second was _holy shit she has two fingers in me._

“Oh wow,” she laughed, throaty and _god_ so fucking sexy Finstock was going to fucking die. “Are you multi-orgasmic?” 

She scissored her fingers and she brushed up against _something_ that had his cock _leaking_ against the wet spot. He made another noise, a desperate push of air from his lungs. Finstock gasped, his mind just managing to string his last coherent thought together. 

_How the fuck did I get here?_

:::: 

Dive bars were a dying breed in New York, and Finstock knew that being a bartender at Morti’s was not exactly a stable career option. 

His days were spent cleaning glasses and keeping stock of bottom shelf swill. Chris was the bartender folks went for charming conversation. Finstock just got you from point A to point B, liquor to glass. On the late shifts, folks knew better than to try and get Finstock talking. 

Kira Yukimura walked into the bar on one of those nights when he was alone. He hadn’t been paying much attention at first, so he didn’t see her limp, only her pale face as she sat down right by his main work area. 

“Do me a favor,” she winced and leaned an elbow on the bar, “and talk to me.”

Finstock rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t do anything for free.” 

She threw down two crumbled twenties. 

And so, he bullshitted with her for hours, pouring her drinks that she wouldn’t sip from unless it was water, and gave her a dish rag when she asked for it. She was young and very beautiful, but with a crooked smile and a hidden _mean_ streak that delighted Finstock more than it should. It only took her a half hour to get him talking about his two failed marriages, how he visits the dog park on the weekend to pet as many dogs as possible, and his experiments in the kitchen brought on by boredom and youtube. 

Her expression melted from tolerant to… happy. Finstock remembered how the heat crawled up his face at her crooked smile when she took a sip of bottom shelf whisky on the rocks. After two and a half hours, four straight whiskey shots and a cup of coffee, a man walked into the bar with a laser-focus on her. 

“Fucking took you long enough,” Kira slid back onto her feet. The man was handsome, a sharp jawline and clothes that were _too nice_ to be in Morti’s. Kira brushed her hair back with one hand, the other hidden beneath her shirt. “I was going to call an Uber.” 

The man’s smile was tight. 

“It was hard to get free, but I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Nope,” Kira popped the _p,_ “but I will be.” She fiddled with her pockets again and turned back to Finstock. “Thanks for keeping me conscious, Bobby.” She winked, and when she slid three hundred dollars in crumbled bills over to him, her fingers were stained red. All the warmth in his body was replaced with cold dread as she looped her arm through the man’s. He opened his mouth, a flood of concern on his tongue, drawing in a breath to offer to call a hospital or the police, but Kira cut him off with a wink. “I’ll see you around.” 

It was another two weeks before he saw her again. He was much more cautious, biting off a _“I’m not giving you alcohol if you’re bleeding out,”_ to which she immediately flashed him a dazzling smile that was too bright for his shitty dive and a bubbly, _“I’m in good health, thank you!”_

Finstock had never been… pursued before. He hated _using_ the word pursue, but he couldn't think of a better description of Kira coming in several nights a week, pestering him until he would bite back, and that was always the first step in a long _slide_ of affection. He couldn’t help it, for every laugh and smile he earned, he blushed, he felt that glow of victory that got stronger against the grim reminder that Kira looked more innocent than she was. 

Two months in, she had waited until Finstock was close, his elbows in the bar and hanging off one of her stories when she spilled piping hot coffee onto her hands. 

“Oops,” Kira drawled as Finstock swore. He glanced up at her, his heart hammering because she didn’t even bother to act apologetic. “Clumsy me. Here,” she slid a business card over to him. “See my doctor. He’ll take a look at your hand.” 

Finstock snorted and pulled his palm out of the ice bucket.

“Thanks, but it’s just a burn. Nothing major.” 

“Please,” Kira leaned forward, close enough that he could smell her perfume. _Cologne,_ Finstock remembered, _it’s too dark to be perfume._ “I insist. Let me pick up the tab for once.” 

He went on his day off. The office was on the upper East Side in a building that was too sleek and clean for Finstock’s tastes. The doctor was an old, bespectacled man who hadn’t bothered looking at Finstock’s hand for more than a second before he had him strip down, taking his blood pressure, listening to his heart, and evaluating his body. Finstock was about to open his mouth to ask if he really needed to be naked for this, when the doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves. 

“Bend over the table, please.” 

::::

Finstock jerked awake. 

The sheets were clean, the lights were dimmed, and Kira dragged a a heavy blanket up. She was in her underwear and a soft t-shirt that rode up her side. He reached for the small patch of skin revealed, spreading his palm to feel flesh. She turned, her brown eyes sharp but her smile lax. 

“You’re awake.” 

He blushed like he was in middle school. 

“Yeah.” He shuddered shook his head, sitting up. “I’m awake, how long was I—” His voice stuck in his throat, because his fingers wouldn’t stop shaking, and it spread up his arms, until his whole body was shivering even though he wasn’t cold. He ground his teeth and tried to get a handle on himself, to see what she wanted from him so she could feel good, but he wouldn’t stop _shaking._ “What the h-hell?” 

Kira didn’t bat an eye. She leaned over him, straddling his waist and he caught her hips so she didn’t fall off when she reached for the mini-fridge at the side of the bed. He felt her muscles flex under his hands as she opened it and brought out a water bottle. 

“Drink,” she unscrewed the bottle for him, her fingers on his throat as she gently tilted the bottle. He obeyed and just that contact, that command and delivery was… enough to have _something_ unwind in his chest. She didn’t stop until the bottle was empty. She tossed it aside. “Good. Lay down.” 

She gently pushed him back against the pillows and brought the blankets up. 

“Shouldn’t I be,” Finstock hated that he passed out after coming the… God he lost count of how many times his cheeks flushed as she wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him. “Doing something?” 

_For you? To you?_ Kira had her phone in hand, and with a swipe of her thumb, the lights turned off entirely. Finstock let out a shaking breath. _It’s like I’m in dream._

“No.” Kira ran her hand down his chest, petting him in soothing motions. “Relax. Breathe.” She snuggled closer, throwing a leg over his hip, her arms cradling him to her chest. She wasn’t big enough to be a proper “big spoon” but she wasn’t letting that stop her from trying. “This is the thinnest shirt I have. I know it’s not skin-to-skin,” her breath tickled his scalp. “I hope it’s enough.” 

Finstock turned to press his face against her chest, sighing against the swell of her breasts. 

“S’enough. More than enough.” The more he held her, the less his skin felt foreign. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time he felt… like himself again. Feather-light fingers dragged down his spine in time with his breathing. He hummed against her breast, his fingers rubbing the soft skin just above her ribs. “I want to make you breakfast.” 

Kira snorted.

“It’s two in the morning.” 

“Okay, so we’ll sleep and then I’ll make you breakfast.” She laughed again and pulled back. He couldn’t see that well in the dark, but he still reached for her, his fingers catching in her hair. “Could I have a kiss?” 

Her answer was to duck down and press her lips against his hopeful smile.

::::

The first breakfast was scrambled eggs with toast. 

The second breakfast was a fried egg-in-a-basket sandwich.

The fifteenth breakfast had Finstock whipping up a meringue and when he presented Kira with Japanese pancakes that had Kira looking at him with a wondrous expression that rocked Finstock harder than when she’d fucked him into the mattress the night before. 

He didn’t know how to describe Kira. She turned his concept of sex inside out, leaving him a shivering, shuddering mess. Whenever he wasn’t blindfolded, she’d be in underwear and a t-shirt. The last few times, she’d kissed him after, throwing her harness and strap-on to the side as she crawled on top of him. He’d kiss her and she’d shove her hand in her underwear, and he could feel how wet she was through the cloth. 

The first time she did that, his hands automatically went to the bottom of her shirt, ready to take it off, but a firm, bruising grip on his wrists stopped him. 

“Don’t take my clothes off.” The command would have been enough, but her tone made him freeze. She panted against his mouth, squirming on top of him. “Just kiss me. _Please.”_

She’d never said please before. He kissed her, his fingers weaving through hair as she brought herself off, moaning into his mouth. Electric shivers shot down his spine at her hitched breath and the nudge of her hips right before she sighed. He kissed her cheek. Her breath puffed against his cheek and she kissed him, soft and sweet. 

That night he was the big spoon, and he knew that it wasn’t an accident. She folded her arms over his, her fingers trailing along the hair on his arms as he curled around her. 

“I’m going away for a week.” 

Kira’s lips brushed against the back of his hand before she pressed a light kiss to it. Finstock’s throat tightened and he squeezed her tighter around the middle. 

“Okay. When do you have to leave?” 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

His fingers pressed against her stomach, a split-second physical pressure, as if he could keep her there through physical will. _What do you do_ was a question he never asked. It was one that she didn’t _want_ him asking, and Finstock was happy to give her privacy. He wanted to ask that evening, with his skin still flushed and tingling. Instead, he tangled their fingers together. 

“Wake me up before you go. I’ll make you breakfast.” 

At five-thirty in the morning he finally put weeks of practice to the test with a pesto sorrel rice bowl, adorned with ginger, feta cheese, and a poached egg resting on top. Her fork broke it, the yolk oozing down the rice, bright yellow even in the low kitchen lighting. Her hum of surprise at the flavor was better than any verbal compliment he could remember receiving. She made him share, and her departing kiss was biting, rough, and a promise that she _would_ be back at his bar. It was a show of strength through tongue and teeth, one that chased away his worries and replaced them with primal satisfaction. 

::::

Three and a half weeks passed. 

“Was it serious?” Chris cleared his throat after hearing the more… explicit details when Finstock had broken yet another glass due to frustration. They were cleaning up, a half hour left in their shift but the bar was empty. “I mean, was the relationship serious?” 

Finstock grimaced, lugging stools atop the tables. 

“Were we going steady? Necking under the bleachers? No, Chris. It was fucking with breakfast in the morning.” 

Chris rolled his eyes, wringing out the towels into the sink. 

“Sure. But if it were me, I’d stick to scrambled eggs and toast and not go digging around for impressive breakfast recipes.” Heat stained his ears and he couldn’t duck out of Chris’s sight fast enough before the bastard was laughing. “This is adorable, you have a _crush—”_

The door opened. Finstock’s mouth went dry at Kira’s blurry silhouette from the sputtering streetlamp in their empty parking lot. 

A logical part of himself _hated_ how happy he was to see her. He was almost fifty years old, he shouldn’t be doing… whatever it was the two of them were doing, especially not with a woman half his age. He had been fine before, when his free time was spent cooking for himself and masturbating right before bed. It had been the perfect routine. 

Yet with one fucking smile it felt as though two strong hands had plunged into his ribcage to capture his heart. 

“Hey,” Kira brushed back her hair and leaned her hip on one of the tables that Finstock still had to wipe down. “Are you free tonight?” 

Chris made himself scarce and Finstock didn’t know if he was grateful or annoyed. 

“Yeah.” 

She grinned. The fingers around his heart tightened. 

:::: 

“Oh God,” Finstock’s voice was already blown out, raspy and weary, when silicone slid into him. “Fuck, _fuck,_ Kira.” He shuddered, his eyes squeezed shut and he could feel her _bare flesh_ against his. For the first time, it was skin-to-skin and Finstock was dizzy with the sensation. “Please,” his breath was hot and wet, puffing against the pillow, “ _please,_ I missed you so much.”

Kira’s nails dug into his hips, pulling him back and hitting that spot that made sparks explode behind Finstock’s eyelids.

“Me too,” Kira was breathless, her fingers slipping on the sweat that clung to Finstock’s skin. “M’sorry it took so long.” 

Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling, not too hard, just enough to make Finstock curse and arch his back. 

“Harder,” his whole body was wound tight, thrumming in time with his heartbeat, “please,” he begged, “ _please—”_ Her hips snapped forward and she pushed all the air out of his lungs. Finstock wheezed, and Kira’s breath caught right as something wet splattered across his back. Kira hissed, so soft she probably thought he couldn’t hear it. Her hands slipped on his hips and when she moved forward, it was weaker. “Greenberg.” Kira froze. Finstock ripped off his blindfold. “Fucking Greenberg.” 

“Okay.” Kira backed off immediately. “What do you need— wait,” Finstock swiped at his back and recoiled at the blood that clung to his fingers. “Don’t turn around—” 

He turned. 

The first thing he saw were tattoos. A dragon framed by koi, bursting through a gate with water that wound around stomach and breasts. Every drop of ink was intricate and beautifully applied to Kira’s skin. The second thing he saw were torn stitches that held together gunshot wounds. Her hands covered the wounds first before her lips pulled into an embarrassed frown. Finstock got up off the bed, ignoring the twinge in his back and the ache in his thighs. 

“Come on.” He gripped her arm and pulled, gentle but firm. She followed, their footsteps soft against carpet that turned into tile as he brought her into the bathroom. He lifted her up on the counter, opening the cabinets until he found rubbing alcohol, wrapping, gauze, and cotton pads. “You’re well stocked.” 

Kira huffed and went to grab the alcohol. Finstock held it out of her reach and didn’t flinch at the withering glare that burned in her eyes. 

“What can I say, I was a Girl Scout.” 

He wanted to get angry, to shove the bottle into her hand, pick up his shit, and leave. He wanted to go back to Chris and say _see, this is why I don’t do relationships, the universe doesn’t want me to._ He wanted to tell Fate that he got the message, he would stay in his lane and live out his life alone. He wanted… he wanted…

He wanted her to stop looking like a trapped animal, her eyes bright and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

“Let me.” He dropped his gaze to the cotton pads and wet them. “It’ll hurt.” 

Kira’s shoulders lowered and she leaned back until her head bumped against the mirror. 

“I know.” 

He washed out the wounds and patted the skin dry before applying fresh gauze and wrappings. By the time he was done, Kira’s eyes were hooded, her breath shallow. He wiped the rest of the blood off her thighs and chest, and off his back. 

“You’re all right,” he whispered, easing her off the sink. She followed silently back to the bedroom. He changed the sheets, pulling back the blankets and she crawled under. “Do you want me to stay?” 

She lifted her head up, her eyes more alert. She heard all the things he wasn’t saying, she didn’t insult them both by voicing them. She nodded. 

Finstock eased into bed, his skin still sensitive. Kira turned her back to him and he traced his fingers over the expansive fox that was etched into her back, over its long nine tails. She shivered under his fingertips.

“Each tail is a century,” his fingers traced down to her hips, over legacies as he kissed her shoulder. “Every picture is a part of my family’s legacy.” 

He rested his hands over her stomach. 

“What about your legacy?” 

Kira hummed, a humorless laugh falling from her lips. 

“That depends,” she lifted Finstock’s hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles, “if I’m worth remembering or not.” 

:::::

The following morning he woke to feather-light kisses. 

He met her lips before he opened his eyes. He laid her back against the pillows, taking care not to disturb the gauze wrapped around her stomach and shoulder. She never pushed for anything fast, and he kept it slow, never using his teeth, and answering every soft moan from her with a light hum. It was easy to slip his hand between her legs as he licked down her chest. 

It was easy to give her everything she wanted, things she asked for with a twist of her hips, an arched back, and a _smile_ that had Finstock’s cheeks flushing like he was teenager. 

She pulled his hair as he eased her off another orgasm, chasing the taste of her. When he didn’t move, she pulled harder. 

“Come on me.” The hint of teeth that peeked behind her lips had Finstock seeing stars as he fumbled for his own cock. Kira’s grin widened. “I know you want to.” 

He held himself above her, his arm shaking as he did exactly what she asked. 

::::

The problem with Kira Yukimura was that she wasn’t stupid. 

Peter Hale had weaseled his way into plenty of criminal organizations, and it had been starting to get boring at how procederal things would end. The leader would get lazy, the subordinates would get antsy, someone would get greedy, and then the once perfect system would collapse. 

Peter would barely have to make an effort to shepard the idiots into the FBI’s hands. 

Then he’d made Kira Yukimura’s acquaintance. 

Some new kid out of Japan, no criminal record, and a ton of liquid cash. He hadn’t thought much of her, until he figured out that a lot of the other gangs were dying off. The murders always were done in the signature of a different gang. The Blackwoods began dying, and the bodies were found with their tongues cut out, an Ito staple. When the Itos, in turn, started to show up dead with their eyes burned to ash, it seemed to be revenge taking course. 

Peter remembered sitting in on the meetings of Deucalion screaming into his phone that _someone_ was acting out of order. He remembered Satomi shouting the same thing back over the other line. 

Infighting began running rampant as more bodies turned up with very specific signatures left behind, all pointing fingers at an existing gang.

When the smoke cleared, Kira Yukimura and her merry gang of weirdos were the only ones left. 

_Peter Hale,_ Kira had smiled with all the charm and innocence of a young lady her age, _you’re a hard man to track down._

She’d found him at his favorite diner, a dive that had the best latkes on the Westside. She wore cologne and dressed like a punk kid out of an eighties movie, torn denim jacket, bright red sneakers, and a twinkling smile that charmed the waitress. 

He’d never been _inducted_ into a group before. He’d never had to struggle to keep his expression indifferent until Kira slid into his booth and explained that she’d been watching him, that he must have some good luck charm to have made it so far, to have evaded the authorities when all the other criminals he’d been running with hadn’t been so lucky. 

_Either that,_ her lips pulled back into a chilling grin, _or you’re an informant._ She laughed loud and slapped his arm. _Come out to dinner with me and my friends sometime. We have a lot of recently acquired territories,_ she winked, _and you might want to get in on the action early._

Peter pulled into the tattoo parlor. It was just beginning to snow and Peter’s teeth clacked together even from the short run from the parking lot into the parlor. It was after-hours, but that didn’t matter. 

Not if it was Kira Yukimura finally completing her full body tattoo. 

“About fucking time,” Stiles rolled his eyes, his own tattoos peeking out from his collar, “I wanted to order food a half hour ago.” 

“Sorry,” Peter unwound his scarf and unbuttoned his jacket, thankful that Stiles got distracted at his V-neck so that Peter could take a peek into the backroom. “Traffic was a bitch.” 

_Traffic_ being meeting with Rafe McCall and trying not to sweat through his shirt before he had to witness the new boss completing her legacy. Peter still couldn’t taste anything other than bile when he swallowed as he made his way into the backroom. 

_“Kira Yukimura isn’t fucking special,”_ Rafe smirked around his cigarette in Peter’s second apartment. _“She’s cute, but she’ll fuck up. Everyone does.”_

Rafe was no better than the other leaders Peter had served up on a platter. He was comfortable, he was getting lazy, relying on Peter the Chameleon. _I think I’ve met my match,_ Peter didn’t dare say. _I think you’re underestimating the Yukimura legacy,_ Peter swallowed and instead offered a terse goodbye so he could make the tattooing at a reasonable time. 

Kira never used her own supply. As far as Peter knew, her entire crew was clean. She paid everyone equally, and a lot of the ugly wet-work… she’d do herself. 

The Yukimuras were not in the United States to join the criminal ranks and stake out a territory. 

It was a full takeover, and Peter was at the frontlines, the thrill and fright rattling his teeth down to the gums. Rafe thought he was too close to her, that he was giving her more credit than she deserved. _“Everyone is greedy,”_ Rafe smirked at Peter had yanked on his jacket, _“give it time. That bitch will want more money and that’s when we’ll get her.”_

“Peter,” Kira was naked, one artists completing the piece on her chest while the other did line work on her legs. “I was wondering if you were going to make it.” 

Erica had her phone out, taking pictures of the progress, Kira sticking out her tongue for the last photo. Boyd and Isaac were lounging on the side, ready with bottles of water the moment their leader needed it. Stiles came in behind Peter, tapping away on his phone with a disinterested, “Is everyone okay with our usual from Taco Bell?”

Kira’s inner circle was there as Peter expected… but a new face had him frozen in his tracks. 

A man with deep crows feet at the corner of his eyes sat on a stool beside Kira. He had wild black hair and a crooked smile. 

“Peter,” Kira’s hand was on the man’s shoulder, “this is Bobby. He’s a friend of mine.” 

Erica waggled her eyebrows and mouthed _friend_ at Peter with a friendly roll of her eyes. Peter extended his hand and noticed that the man didn’t have any visible ink on his skin when his sleeves fell away with the movement. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a loose long-sleeved shirt. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

Bobby’s teeth bit off the words before they could become too sugary or sweet. His hands were soft, no callouses left from holding a gun. When Peter shook Bobby’s hand, Bobby’s shirt slipped down to reveal more of his collar, and still, there was _no ink._ It could have been possible that Bobby was some representative or perhaps a lawyer, but Peter would have _known_ him as more than just _isn’t that the bartender from a few years ago?_

“The pleasure,” grim satisfaction settled in Peter’s stomach as he squeezed Bobby’s soft, _civilian_ hand, “is all mine.” 

Kira Yukimura wasn’t greedy in the traditional way that McCall expected… but it turns out all Peter needed was patience. Kira smiled, sweet, charming, and enamored as ink was etched into her skin. Bobby turned back to Kira, sharing that same smile. Peter retreated, his heart racing for an entirely different reason. 

_We’re all greedy about something,_ Peter breathed deep, watching Kira’s body disappear under ink and color, _it’s just a matter of time before we reveal what we want the most._

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a bit of an experiment and a therapeutic release after a long, LONG weekend where by the end of it I was happy to go back to work. Retreating back into Kirkstock is what I really needed this week and so here is… this haha. A bunch of smut and some weird plot and other stuff. 
> 
> I’ve been wanting to write Mafia!AU Kirkstock for a while though definitely planned differently than what this ended up being. I really just wanted pegging, light bondange melting into vanilla, and feelings. I will admit… I’m worried I didn’t do enough with Kira, but it was hard since I severely limited the cast and the POVs, to exclusively Finstock before Peter rears his head at the end, haha. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m sorry? For putting out something weird and a strange smutty one-shot with a cold slap in the face of plot at the end. I just wanted something warm to wrap myself up in after… just the rough couple of weeks. 
> 
> I hope it’s not too weird and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think, regardless. And also yay for another moodboard from me. It could be… better? But Ruby sent me the image of the woman’s back and I HAD to use it.
> 
>  
> 
> I’ll still be active on tumblr for the time being, but there are other ways to find me. [**Here**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about) you can see a little breakdown of other places to find me and the other things I do in relation to these fics (journals/behind the scenes, playlists, head canons). [**So click on over** ](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about)to get the full rundown!


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